


Erfurt

by GravityCanFly



Series: Cabin Pressure [6]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Douglas and his daughter, Friendship, Gen, Unwanted Sexual Attention, christmas plans, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityCanFly/pseuds/GravityCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A disappointing phone call makes for a very grumpy first officer, and a corporate away-day sees Arthur become the target of some unwanted sexual attention.<br/>I said some time ago that living together was bound to affect the relationship dynamic between Douglas and Martin...</p><p>Follows on chronologically from the last installment in the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erfurt

**Author's Note:**

> This contains drunken passengers failing to respect boundaries. There's nothing explicit or particularly horrible but it could potentially be a little uncomfortable.

Martin closed the door quietly behind him and slipped off his shoes. He wriggled out of his coat and hung it on the stand. As he was fighting his way out of his gloves he heard a muffled sound. He stopped. Douglas’s voice came quietly from the door to his right.

“But darling, I won’t see you,” Douglas was saying. “I understand it’s a wonderful opportunity, I just was looking forward to having you here at Christmas.”

Martin froze. Douglas spoke in a tone that he hadn’t heard before. He was gentle and kind, and unmistakably sad.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ll take you out February half-day holiday. And I’ll still come up that first weekend you’re home? …No, I’ll be fine. Really. I love you, darling, okay? Okay.”

There was silence. Martin suddenly realised that Douglas might now step out of his study at any moment. He dashed down the hallway on his tiptoes, desperate not to be found eavesdropping.

Poor Douglas. He had mentioned that he hoped to have his daughter to stay for a few days between Christmas and New Year. His face had lit up when he said it, and he had wandered around with a little contented smile on his face for the rest of the afternoon. If Isobel wasn’t coming? Martin was half-tempted to quietly leave again and not come home for a few days.

-

“Bugger!” Douglas cried as the jar of olives he had been holding fell to the floor and smashed, sending olives and broken glass skittering across the slate-tiled floor. He leant heavily against the counter and hung his head. He felt tears of frustration begin to prick at his eyes. This, of course, was the moment Martin chose to appear.

“Everything alright?” the young captain asked, in his carefully practiced mild tone.

“Fine,” Douglas spat. “I’m just standing here in a fucking puddle of brine.”

“So I see.” Martin stepped over to a cupboard and pulled out a dustpan and brush. He held it out for Douglas to take, leaning over the destruction to Douglas in the epicentre. Douglas looked at him for a while, his expression clearly designed to make him leave as fast as he could. When Martin had first met Douglas, such a look would have had him running for the hills, but not so now. Now he just waited. After a few moments Douglas sighed and took the dustpan and brush, stooping to clear up his wasted olives. He created tides in the brine as he pushed olives and shards of glass into the dustpan. Little waves lapped at his bare feet. He threw the collected debris into the bin and grabbed the tea-towel from the radiator. He scrubbed at the floor with the towel until it was sodden and the floor was not, then threw that forcefully into the bin as well. He shoved the dustpan and brush back into the cupboard, glaring at Martin as he passed, and stalked over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Is everything alright?” Martin asked again.

Douglas slammed his hand down on the counter in front of him, making Martin jump. Martin took a step closer to his first officer and spoke cautiously.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything!” Douglas cried, picking up the soap and hurling it into the sink. He took a breath and sagged forwards as he let it out. “Isobel isn’t coming at Christmas.”

“Ah.”

Douglas nodded slightly. “Ah,” he echoed. There was a pause, as Martin considered the best way to comfort this man. He thought the best thing to do was probably simply to leave the room, but he didn’t. Instead he placed a hand on Douglas’s shoulder.

“I haven’t seen her in months, Martin.” Douglas gripped the edge of the sink until the skin over his knuckles was stretched taut and white. Martin squeezed his shoulder gently. Douglas took a shaky breath, all sorts of thoughts racing through his mind, fears and memories melting together into a sort of panicky soup.

“I’m sorry.”

Douglas looked up at Martin and twitched his lips in something vaguely like a smile. “Can’t be helped,” he said simply, and straightened up, moving away from Martin’s touch. He pulled a fresh tea towel out of the drawer and dried his hands on it, then left, leaving Martin alone in stockinged feet on the damp floor.

After a couple of seconds the sound of Douglas at his piano filled the house.

-

Douglas didn’t speak again that afternoon and Martin decided to stay out of his way. He hadn’t seen Douglas like that before. He found it difficult to believe, even now, that it was possible for him to lose control in such a way. The piano playing continued for the rest of the day. Occasionally it would stop, footsteps and sounds of movement would come and it would seem that he was finished, but inevitably after a few minutes it would start up again. Martin was impressed, always, by Douglas’s repertoire. Most of what he played Martin had not heard him play before. Today, however, his admiration was undercut with concern. When the hour hand passed eleven and Martin was in his pyjamas, teeth brushed and ready for bed, the music came again. It was still playing when he fell asleep.

-

“What new form of punishment have you devised for us this morning, Carolyn?”

“The punishment you refer to, Douglas, is actually your _job_ for which you are _paid_.”

“Unlike some of us,” muttered Martin, rummaging through the papers on the desk.

“Well I notice you’re not paying any rent at the moment, so you could be worse off,” Douglas growled into his coffee.

Martin looked up, startled. “I can… if you want… of course… I - I would…” A flush spread across his cheekbones.

Douglas huffed, shook his head and turned away. Martin cast a bewildered look at Carolyn, who replied with a raised eyebrow and a shrug.

“Anyway,” Carolyn broke the terse silence. “Today we fly four procurement managers to Erfurt.”

“What’s a procurement manager?” Arthur popped up from behind a filing cabinet, causing Martin to jump and upset his tea, nearly destroying the flight plan he had spent half an hour on.

“Arthur! What were you doing behind there?”

“Hiding.”

“Hiding?!”

“Yeah. Mum said we should play hide and seek, but that was an hour ago and I don’t think she’s been looking.”

“No, funny that, isn’t it.” Carolyn flashed her sharkish grin at her son just briefly. “Now could you go and escort our passengers to G-ERTI? I think these gentlemen are about ready to fly.”

“Right.” Martin nodded and stood. “I’ll go and file these,” he brandished the paperwork in his hands, “and meet you on the plane.”

“Splendid. Fly, my boys!”

-

“Martin,” Douglas called over his shoulder as he heard the flight deck door click open, “have you seen the - oh.” In the doorway stood not his captain, but a woman who appeared to be in her thirties, with red hair down to her waist, in a shift dress that appeared to have been made just for her. “Hello,” he purred in greeting, sitting up straighter.

“Hi,” the woman replied, resting the palm of her hand on the doorway, her watch falling down her slender wrist and hitting against the bangle that sat there with a ‘clink’. “You’re the Captain?” she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“No, actually,” Douglas grinned, “he’s the Captain.” He pointed past her to a blushing Martin. She turned, then pointedly adjusted her gaze downward to meet his eyes, as if being less than six foot was some rare defect not often found in modern societies.

“Oh,” she said, not attempting to hide her disappointment.

“He gets that reaction a lot.”

“Thank you, Douglas,” Martin muttered, looking down at the floor and finding it occupied by the woman’s shoes, her disappointed presence far too close to him in the confined space of the galley.

The awkward silence was cut short, however, by the appearance of Arthur. It seemed that in contrast to the ageing first officer and short, nervous captain, six-foot-six-inches of bear-like steward was exactly what the woman was after.

“Arthur!” she cried, leaping towards him, seemingly oblivious to Martin stood in her way. Martin fell into the wall like a skittle as she bowled into Arthur. “Hello,” she purred, teasing his cravat with her fingers.

“Uh, hello, Miss Harding,” he stammered, looking at her fingers with a slightly terrified expression.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink, Arthur?”

“Ah, of course. There’s still some of that wine you brought, or we have gin…?” Arthur’s eyes were fixed on the hands stroking his chest as he spoke.

“I think the time for wine has passed.” Unnaturally long eyelashes fluttered.

Arthur gulped.

-

“I bet Phil has to be enlisted to carry one of those women off the plane when we get home.” Martin sighed irritably in response to a squeal from the cabin.

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you bet?”

“Oh, Douglas, no…” Martin whined.

“Use of my car for the next week,” Douglas offered.

“Really? Okay… What do you get if you win?”

“When.”

“What?”

“When I win.”

Martin sighed. “What do you get _if_ you win?”

Douglas frowned. The stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated expression of ‘thinking hard’. “I don’t know… is there anything you could offer me?”

“I could cook for the week?”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a prize to me.”

“Douglas…”

“Fine, fine, you’re on.”

“Right. I bet you Phil has to carry one of those women off the plane.”

“And I win if it’s the one in the leopard print shoes.”

-

Arthur stumbled into the flight deck with his hat askew and his cravat falling out of his shirt. A bewildered look graced his face.

“Chaps!”

Douglas raised a lazy eyebrow. “Everything alright, Arthur?”

“Yes! Uh, yes, everything’s fine, I think. I think… I think the passengers quite like me.”

“What on earth gives you that idea?” A smirk pulled at Douglas’s lips.

“Well they keep trying to touch my bottom.” Arthur blushed. “And I understand it’s because they like my bottom and I should probably be - be flattered but it’s - well - it’s my bottom, isn’t it? I should decide if people get to touch it.” The words fell out of Arthur’s mouth like a waterfall, and he was left gaping slightly when they stopped, looking a bit like a video with the audio out of sync.

“Of course, Arthur,” Douglas employed his warmest voice, the depth of the tone almost causing the entire instrument panel to vibrate. “No one should ever touch you unless you invite it.”

Arthur nodded, his lower lip beginning to quiver slightly.

“Why don’t you stay up here with us for a bit? Let them grope each other instead.”

Arthur nodded again. “Mum said I should stay out of their way. She said I was making them feral.”

Douglas and Martin stifled their laughter. Arthur frowned.

“What’s feral?”

“Take another look into the cabin,” Martin suggested. Arthur glanced warily back at the door and shook his head just slightly.

Douglas gave his characteristic barking laugh. “Alright Arthur, how about coffee?”

-

Having been deprived of their steward for so long during the flight, on arrival in Erfurt the passengers launched themselves at Arthur once again, even less inhibited this time having cleared out Carolyn’s stocks of gin. Arthur led them across the tarmac to find their taxi, stammering out an incoherent mixture of protestations and his memorised stewarding lines as they fought with each other to drape themselves over his arm. Carolyn caught Douglas’s eye and gave him a stern look. Douglas nodded slightly.

“Arthur!” Douglas strode forward, making full use of his natural presence, and placed a hand on the young steward’s shoulder, somehow finding it through the coat of women Arthur wore. “Can I borrow you? Professional query, very important.”

Arthur turned to face him, puzzlement slightly crowding out the distress from his expression. “Okay Douglas…”

“Excellent. Carolyn will escort you to your taxi, ladies.” Douglas smiled widely at the drunken women and gently pulled Arthur from their clutches.

-

After half an hour and a hot chocolate with what seemed to be half a can of whipped cream, the entire airport’s stock of marshmallows and an extra mini flake Arthur perked up and seemed to forget all about his harassment at the hands of the procurement team of a major national retailer, and that it would all begin again in four hours.

“Is Herc coming for Christmas?” he asked brightly.

“I don’t know yet.” Carolyn replied with an impatient sigh. “Oh Arthur stop picking at your nails.” She slapped at his hands.

“Sorry Mum.” Arthur continued undeterred by his mother’s short tone: “Christmas will be great though! Especially if Herc’s there.”

“Will you be seeing your father?” Martin asked, looking up from his paper.

“Not if I can help it,” Carolyn muttered.

“No, he’s usually busy around Christmas.” Arthur seemed quite cheerful about this. “What will you be doing, Skip?”

“Oh, we’ll be at Mum’s as usual. It’ll be good to see the kids.” Martin smiled, thinking of his niece and nephew. He noticed Douglas stiffen slightly over his copy of _Handelsblatt_ , and wished he hadn’t mentioned the children.

“What about you, Douglas?” Arthur turned to the first officer, oblivious to his intense focus on the German paper.

“I’ll be on my own,” Douglas said evenly, eyes still firmly on the paper.

“Oh no! You can’t be on your own on Christmas!” Arthur protested, his eyes shining. “Come and have dinner with us.”

“No thank you, Arthur. I can think of many nicer things than watching _Herc_ eating a nut roast.”

“But you just _can’t_ be alone on Christmas!”

“I think I can.”

“But-” Arthur began again.

“Shut up Arthur,” Martin said quietly. Arthur and Douglas both looked up at him. Douglas looked away again, but Arthur remained staring at him with his mouth open.

“Why? I just want Douglas to-”

“Spend Christmas with his colleagues. Yes. Don’t you think he sees enough of you in the air?”

Douglas’s lips quirked slightly. Martin blushed. There was silence over the table and each person returned to their reading material. But silence is a fleeting visitor, particularly when there is an Arthur present.

“You could come over on Christmas eve, both of you,” he suggested, eagerly.

Douglas stood, folding his paper and sticking it under his arm. “That’s enough of that, I think,” he said shortly, and walked decisively away.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing, dear heart, he’s just in one of his moods.”

-

Martin found Douglas in the flight deck, eyes closed, plugged into his iPod. He sat beside him in his own seat and began firing G-ERTI up. Douglas didn’t acknowledge him, but his eyelids twitched slightly, indicating that he was aware he was no longer alone. His fingers moved on the arm-rests, matching the music that leaked from his ear phones.

“Do you want to do the walk-around or shall I?”

Douglas opened one eye and looked over his captain. “I can’t hear you,” he said, “ear phones.”

“I get that you’re doing your miserable bastard act, but you still have a job to do, and as your captain, I _order you…_ ”

“Yes, alright, _Captain_.”

-

Martin sighed, looking over at the first officer’s sullen face. The flight deck was quiet - a heavy oppressive sort of silence hung around them. Douglas’s bad mood was rolling off him in waves.

“Hello drivers,” Carolyn appeared cheerfully.

“Hello Carolyn.” Martin glanced back at her. “Is Arthur safe in there by himself?”

“Oh yes, the cougars passed out ages ago. Arthur’s just been going on and on about Christmas. I thought I’d hide up here to avoid throttling him. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course, if you can stand it.”

“What do you mean?”

Martin nodded towards Douglas.

“Oh, are you sulking, First Officer Richardson?”

“I do not _sulk_ , Carolyn.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Do you have some kind of game going?”

“Not at the moment. Any ideas, Douglas?”

Douglas sighed. “Fine. Fortunately, Unfortunately.”

“Aha.”

“What? What’s that?” Martin looked between Carolyn and Douglas.

“For example, Martin: Fortunately, Carolyn knows the game.”

“Unfortunately, Martin doesn’t.” Carolyn continued.

“Fortunately, it’s not a difficult game and even the simplest of pilots should pick it up.”

“Unfortunately, we do have here the absolute simplest of pilots.”

“Hey!”

-

“Hi.” Martin poked his head round the door of the lounge to find Douglas slumped on the sofa in his pyjamas. He stared blankly ahead at the telly, the green baize of a snooker table filling the screen. Balls rolled smoothly across it and fell into the pockets with satisfyingly tactile sounds. Douglas did not respond to the greeting. “I’m putting some pasta on, do you want some?”

“No.”

“Okay, um…” Martin hovered in the doorway. “Do you want anything?”

“No.” Dejection personified.

“Right,” Martin nodded, slightly annoyed by the feeling that he was dealing with a stubborn child. He turned to leave, but stopped. He turned back into the room and sat, facing Douglas. The older man made eye contact with him for a moment, then turned his face away. He had nothing of the presence Martin was used to feeling from him. He felt intensely uncomfortable suddenly, as if he was looking at his friend naked.

Douglas kept his gaze resolutely on the television. The younger player won the frame; the balls were racked up to start again.

“Douglas…” Martin began, then paused, waiting for a response. None came. _He’s not going to make this easy for me_ , he thought to himself. He took a breath. “Mum would be very happy for you to… to have Christmas dinner with us.” He looked up expectantly.

Applause erupted on the television as a difficult long pot slid perfectly into the middle of the bottom left pocket. Douglas’s eyes darted across the screen taking stock of the position of the balls.

“Douglas?” Martin prompted.

The young player missed an easy pot, to a collective groan from the audience and a wince from Douglas.

After what seemed like an age, Douglas spoke. “Thank you, Martin, but no.”


End file.
